


breathe

by watercolorgalaxies



Category: Mars Argo - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, Recovery, Triple Drabble, computer show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14493624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watercolorgalaxies/pseuds/watercolorgalaxies
Summary: three drabbles about mars argo.





	breathe

**I.**

Wine glass shards cut my feet, and I watch myself bleed crimson.

I want him gone. I smile through every song, every performance, but behind screens he's venom. I know he is only cruel behind locked doors. He is a bruise of blue that refuses to fade. He only comes back worse, a toxic suffocation.

He claws at my insecurities until it's too much. I write that I pine after freedom. He messages me saying he's overdosed and he has minutes to live.

This can't be living. I can't live with this monster. But I'm afraid I have no choice.

**II.**

I met her after I left.

Blonde bob, sweet Bambi eyes. Smaller than me. Easy to crush, that's what he likes.

She's too similar to be a coincidence. She's my robot replacement bleeding electric blue. I am her secret satire target. I smile because I know she will become a puppet, one who knows no artistry, only repetition. That does not erase his bruises, or the way I check my lock twice.

Do you know? I ask her with a look. Are you in the same place I was?

She only stares blankly, for the purpose of copying my posture.

**III.**

Three years ago I would have laughed. Revenge is prettier from time’s distance and in fantasies born from boredom.

This has become warfare, but I am in combat with two enemies I have yet to decipher.

What keeps me sane is that I’m not alone.

"We love you, Mars."

Thank you. I wish I could speak, but my tongue remains captive, guarded by viceroy butterflies. Nothing is sacred. I hang my head and await the hurricane, and my windows won’t be boarded up much longer. One day I will breathe and although that day isn't yet here, it draws closer.


End file.
